James looked at me, and then he smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of smile that brought warmth or reassurance.
"Just take the pills, Hilda," he said casually, as though we were discussing nothing more consequential than a grocery list.
I stared at him, my chest tightening. "Come on, James. I'm serious. What if I’m already pregnant?"
The words hung in the air between us, heavy and loaded. I met his gaze, searching for something—anything—that would give me a reason to trust him with this truth. But then his face changed. The warmth drained from his expression, replaced by a cold, unyielding mask.
He looked me straight in the eyes. "Then get an abortion or something. But right now, you’re going to drink this pill, okay? I don’t want to have this discussion any longer."
My heart
